


The Voice of Reason

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Arrow of Carnations [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hints of being touch-starved, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, saying he's leaving like 10 times and then not leaving, smitten but can't admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: He's smitten with her--he knows he is--but he will never admit it. To himself, nor to her.





	The Voice of Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill -- based on [this piece of a sleepy Josephine](https://jubberry.tumblr.com/post/185402059930/for-the-anon-who-wanted-o2-for-josie-thanks-for) by [@jubberry](https://jubberry.tumblr.com/).

She has fallen asleep at her desk again. 

Solas hovers by the door and stares across her office. Josephine's arms are crossed across her desk, her head lolling against them. Her eyes are closed, and she breathes steadily, a single lock of hair fluttering across her face, moved by her breath. Her candles have dwindled down to stubs and only embers remain in the hearth. 

He sighs, shaking his head. Since the Inquisition took up residence in Skyhold, Josephine's fatigue has chased her with each passing day. She has never complained, never even said a word, but the dark circles beneath her eyes and her uncharacteristic sluggishness with words have been unmistakable. She is wearing herself thin—only her stubborn graciousness will never allow her to admit it. 

Solas crosses the room and picks up the blanket from the couch. The fur is soft and warm beneath his fingers. He drapes it around Josephine's shoulders, tucking between her and her chair. She stirs, mumbling, but does not wake. 

He approaches the hearth and kneels, legs tucked beneath him. He blows on the embers. They burst a bright red and orange against the charred black of the burnt logs. Without a fire, Skyhold's cold draftiness clings to every room. Solas summons a burst of flame to his palm and relights the fire. His magic commands it to burn, flames leaping and dancing, curling and sparking in the hearth. Warmth fills the room, chasing away the bitter cold. 

"…Solas?" 

He turns, hands resting on his thighs. Josephine stirs, her eyelids fluttering, her long dark lashes hiding her eyes. She pushes her hair out her face and musses her entire complicated coiffure. She yawns. 

"I lit your fire," he explains. 

"Thank… thank you." Her head lolls. 

He's uncertain if she has fallen back asleep. 

"It's very warm," she murmurs. 

Solas chuckles and rises to his feet. "I should hope so. This castle is old and cold and has long forgotten how to care for its inhabitants." 

She snorts. "You say that as if it's a person." She yawns again. "Maybe I should… let it work, for a change. Teach it some manners." 

"If Skyhold will listen to anyone, it will listen to you." His smile fades. He leans against the hearth, hands clasped behind his back. _Leave it be,_ he scolds himself. _Simply leave it be._  

Sometimes it is too much, being here, walking these halls once more. Though the castle contains the shadows of the many other inhabitants who came after, Skyhold still calls to him. It is difficult to ignore, especially when his guard is low... 

As it is when he is in the presence of those he cares about. 

_You should leave._

His gaze passes over her. Josephine holds a quiet beauty. The arch of her nose, the pleasant curve of her lips, the laugh-lines around her eyes—they all speak to a woman who seeks joy wherever she can. Of them all within the inner circle, Josephine is the only one who truly has faith that the Inquisition will triumph over its enemy. Some would call her blind. 

Solas would call her hopeful. 

And hope was… 

Unexpected. And powerful. 

It has been more years than he will ever admit since he has seen a spark of hope as bright as hers. He loves her for it dearly—though he can never voice it. Never speak of it. Never admit it. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd expect _you_ are the one half-asleep." 

Josephine's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He glances at her, startled. She still rests her head on the desk, but her eyes are wide open now. Those soft eyes, gentle eyes, that see far more than she will ever tell.   

"Merely lost in thought." 

"I know how you must feel," she says. "There are many heavy thoughts these days." 

He frowns. "When was the last time you slept in your bed, Ambassador?" 

"I…" She swallows. "I can't recall, now that you mention it." 

"You should sleep in your own bed." 

Josephine pushes her head off her desk. "I will. When I have a moment." 

"Tonight," he insists. "Go to your chambers to sleep. You will run yourself ragged if you remain chained to your desk all hours of the day." 

"Hm, that's unexpected." Her eyes are closed again. 

"What is?" 

She smiles. "You’re a nag." 

His lips draw to a thin line. "Merely concerned for your well-being, Ambassador." 

"Otherwise known as a _nag."_ She laughs quietly to herself and opens her eyes. "I did not realize you care so much, Solas." 

"Why would I not? Have I mistakenly given the impression of being uncaring?" 

Josephine sits up and pulls the blanket tight around her shoulders. She nearly disappears into the fur. "Aloof, maybe," she says. "Lonely—" 

"I am not—" 

His words fail him. 

Josephine raises an eyebrow. "You tended to the wounded in the Hinterlands. You cared for the refugees in Haven, you saved the Inquisitor at the start of this all, when no one else could. You care a great deal, Solas. I have never doubted that." She pauses, wetting her lower lip. "But you do keep yourself from others. Perhaps with good reason. But you have more friends here than you think." 

Solas folds his arms. The fire's warmth scales his back and it is hot as white flame. He bites back the instinct to give her a flippant reply—she does not deserve it. "I… do not know what to say, Ambassador." 

"At the very least," she continues, "you have a friend in me." 

She smiles, radiant in her sleepiness, the blanket heavy around her shoulders. Her dark hair is a mess now, falling from its once-elegant braid. The tip of her nose is rosy, her cheeks flushed, her eyes puffy from sleep. And yet there is no doubt that she is beautiful. 

His fingers dig into his arms. Her empathy will certainly be the end of him. "I should go, Josephine." 

She stands, pushing her hair back. Her stance is uneven—for a moment it looks like she will fall—but she catches herself as she steps towards him. She clutches at the blanket and it trails behind her, whispering against the stone floor. "You can stay," she says. She puts a hand to his shoulder and her touch is hotter than the flames in the hearth. "I would enjoy your company." 

He shakes his head. "It is late. You should rest." 

"I'm awake now." 

She is very close to him. He can hear her heartbeat. 

Her eyes find his and he cannot look away. "It is late, Josephine," he says. "You have much to accomplish come morning. And I… I have the Fade." 

Her smile fades. "Of course. Your studies. There must be many things to dream here, in a castle this old." 

"There are." 

"Promise you will share them with me." 

Solas catches her hand and squeezes it. "You have my word." 

The radiant smile returns and his heart leaps at the sight— 

_Foolish idiot! You can never tell her, you must never…_

Josephine sweeps a bow, as elegant and refined as she can manage with her fatigue. She clutches the blanket with one hand. 

Her other remains in his. 

"Then goodnight," she says. 

She pulls her hand free and stumbles towards the door to her office. She pulls it open, looks over her shoulder once and nods her head in farewell. She disappears into the candlelit darkness of the great hall beyond. 

Her footsteps echoing across the stone floor for an eternity. 

Solas leans an arm against the mantelpiece. He stares into the fire and watches the flames dance to embers. His thoughts linger where they should never go.  


End file.
